Sunday, January 27, 2013

one year

My dad died one year ago today. And I feel like I should write something, but I am not sure what to say.

In some ways it feels very long ago, Like when I think about all that has happened since last January 27th. And in some ways it feels like yesterday. Like when I can hear his voice say, "hey maggie darlin"in my head. And in those instances the pain is still a little overwhelming.

I hate that he can't see my kids growing up. I think he would get a kick out of Lucy's sassy attitude and Hayes utter determination. He would probably laugh when Lucy tries to negotiate and make some comment about an apple not falling far from the tree when Hayes is climbing everything in sight.

I still think, "I need to tell dad (fill in the blank)" and sometimes even go to call him. I wonder what he would think about certain events and news. Last week I was watching a thrilling Gonzaga / Butler game that went down to the very last seconds and I wished desperately that I could call him and say, "did you see that"? Because he would know exactly what I was talking about.

A good friend who is dealing with the same thing told me that the week leading up to this day would be worse than the actual day. And for the most part, she was right. It was hard for me to go through this week without thinking back to last year and and that horrible week in the hospital watching someone I love so much slip away. It was the both the longest and the shortest week of my life. And when he finally went to Heaven the relief and then the crippling grief that came afterward.

And yet I have hope in the sadness. I see God's fingerprints all over those last few months. He gave us amazing friends to help us through. He gave us a wonderful family time.  And as odd as it sounds, he allowed us to see just how hard it had been for my dad and how tired he really was without putting him through an extended period in hospice care. I am sure my dad would not have wanted that.

He would want us all to remember him pre-cancer. He would want us to talk about the fun stuff and probably tell some inappropriate jokes. And go out and buy a dog or a car without checking with mom first. And probably a couch. And a sofa table. And another dog. (Allegedly)

Oh, I miss him so much. But I am certain he is in Heaven. And he's not using a walker or wearing bandaids over bruises or in anymore pain.

But, let's be honest. he probably is telling an inappropraite joke.


  1. I just cried the entire way through this. Such beautiful words. I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my Papa in much the same way (YEARS of diabetes, but the end was very quick) and I agree that it really all played out in a blessed way. We saw him suffer just enough to know that it was best that he be freed from that, but we had just enough time to say what we wanted to say (if you ever really can say it all). I can't imagine the loss of a parent. I know he would have loved to share a good Gonzaga/Butler conversation...but I am so thankful we have the promise of continuing those conversations one day in Glory.

    You are such a good mom. Your kids are darling and they look like so much fun (read- hot messes! Because that's what we are and that's what we deserve). I know he would be so proud of the woman you are and the mother you are.

    Prayers for you, your mom, your family as you continue the journey of grief and remember your sweet dad.

    XOXO~ Tiffany

  2. i am so sorry for this pain and sadness. your dad was clearly one-of-a-kind and so wonderful. just the little bit i've got to be around you it is clear his legacy continues through your awesomeness too!